The Road I'm On
by Calyn
Summary: "Have a good trip, miss—Mrs..." "Benson," Susan supplied. The ticketmaster nodded. "A good trip, Mrs. Benson." A bookverse fic, marginally songfic, about Susan a few years after the crash. Kplus for safety.
1. Train and To Lucy

This is eventually going to be a Susanfic of a sort, I think. NOT DARKNESS UNIVERSE. Just bookverse. It's also only marginally a songfic, being _inspired by_ a song rather than completely based on it. Hence, the song lyrics have large gaps between them. This takes place in 1953, according to Jack's timeline, and Susan is now 25. Please do not imagine Anna Popplewell or Sophie Winkleman as Susan. There is a link to my play-by for adult Susan on my profile.

Narnia and its characters belong to C.S. Lewis and no one else. Not to the movie franchises, not to his estate, _just to Jack_. Leo, David, Martha, Herbert, and the ticketmaster (to some extent) belong to me. Tundon and Sturman are, as far as I know, not real cities in Ohio. _Jesus, Take the Wheel_ belongs to Carrie Underwood & co.

I have more of Susan's letters written, and ideas for scenes, but that's it. I hope you enjoy.

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**She was driving last Friday on her way to Cincinnati**  
**On a snow white Christmas Eve**

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Susan Benson hated Christmas. Not because of the Santas at department stores, not because of the emphasis on gifts, not even because she had to go back to work the next day.

No. It was more than that.

The entire season of Christmas was based around children. It began with the Christ child. Children were the ones who sat on Santa's knee and wrote letters to him. Children were the ones who put out milk and cookies in the hope that they might catch him in the act of delivering their presents.

Susan had lost hope long ago. She could remember being excited for St. Nicholas Day and Christmas, for her birthday and Easter. Times she knew would always be filled with her family.

Susan had no family. They were dead. Her husband, parents, sister, brothers, aunt and uncle, cousin and adopted uncle. They were all gone. Well, all but one.

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**Going home to see her momma and her daddy**  
**With the baby in the back seat**

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Susan looked down at the seat next to her. _I'd meant to never get pregnant_, she thought. "Hello, little man," she said quietly, unwrapping her son from his basket and lifting him into her arms. He looked up at her, his thumb in his mouth. He was a good baby. He almost never cried.

"You have your mother's eyes," Susan cooed to the baby. "Don't you, Leo? Big blue eyes just like your mommy. Blond hair just like your daddy."

Little Leo pulled his thumb out of his mouth and gurgled. Susan let out a pained sigh as she remembered the boy's father.

David. Her David.

They'd gone out for two and a half years. He was always been kind to her, and Susan had fallen completely in love with him after their second meeting. Luckily he followed suit soon after. Still, it had been a slow start, both of them afraid to step out too far, afraid of going too fast. David had comforted her when her family was killed in the train wreck. When he proposed to her at last, Susan thought she could burst from the pure joy.

Their wedding had been small—David's parents and his few relatives, Susan's aunt and uncle, a few friends. The priest was a friend of both families. They had been happy for almost a year when Susan found out she was pregnant.

It was her twenty-fourth birthday, and the third anniversary of her family's death.

That was the day David was pushed in front of a train.

For the second time in three years Susan had lost the ones she loved. When they heard of their son's death, Martha and Herbert Benson had gone cold toward Susan and refused to communicate with her.

Three months later, Susan's uncle Harold and aunt Alberta were killed in a automobile accident.

Three months after _that_, Leo Daniel Benson was born.

Susan was traveling to Cincinnati on the train. She hoped that her son might soften her in-laws toward her. She had no one else left. If not for Leo...the baby was her only reason for existence, her only reason to live.

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**Fifty miles to go and she was running low**  
**On faith and gasoline**  
**It'd been a long hard year**

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"Sturman, seven miles; Tundon, thirty-two miles; Cincinnati, fifty miles," the ticketmaster said as he reached Susan's seat. "Where is your destination, miss?" There was something strangely familiar about him.

"Mrs.," Susan corrected automatically.

"Oh, I apologize. Does your husband have your tickets?"

Susan smiled sadly. "I'm afraid not. I am a widow."

The ticketmaster's eyes widened slightly. "So young? And with a little one?"

"Yes," Susan sighed, looking down at Leo. He was sleeping now, his thumb back in his mouth. "David died the day I found out. I'm going to Cincinnati," she said, fumbling for her ticket. "Here."

The man punched her ticket and handed it back. "Have a good trip, miss—Mrs..."

"Benson," Susan supplied.

The ticketmaster nodded. "A good trip, Mrs. Benson." After giving her a strange look she could not interpret, he moved to the next car.

"Well, my little lion, we are off at last," Susan whispered to her sleeping son as the train began to move.

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**She had a lot on her mind**

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The names of all the people she had lost ran through Susan's mind. Putting Leo back into his basket, gently so as not to wake him, she reached into her purse. Pulling out a journal and a pen, she began to write.

_To my darling Lucy:_

_You were always there, little sister. Always so young, so innocent. Your golden hair was only a reflection of your sunny disposition. I can hardly call to mind a time when I heard you say something unkind, even when someone deserved it. Such a bright view of life. Rarely did you cry. And when you did, I am rightly ashamed to admit that it was nearly always because of me. We used to have so much fun together, before I grew up and you refused to admit the truth about our games._

Susan paused and shook her head. That last sentence was utterly wrong. Why was she still writing as she had trained herself to speak when her family was alive? That would certainly stop now. She crossed the sentence out with a bold stroke of the pen and rewrote it.

_We used to have so much fun together, before I "grew up" as I so foolishly called it. You refused, and I can see now that you were right to do so. All I ever did was act older than I was, or at least try to do so. As I have realized, I failed. I only came across to you as an uncaring teenager, preoccupied with my social life. And I left you behind, my sweet little sister, when you would not follow. You used to follow me without question. But you were right to break away—you could see where my path led, to destruction and an empty life. It is far too late for apologies, but nonetheless...I am sorry for doubting you, Lucy. Please forgive me._

Susan carefully tore out the sheet of paper and folded it neatly, placing it in her purse. Then she settled into a comfortable position to write the rest of her letters.

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And there you have it. The first part of this fic. *cough* _blonde Lucy_ *cough*

Review?


	2. To Edmund

To my shy Edmund:

Like Lucy, you were always there. But I never noticed you as much, you were so quiet. Shy and quiet, you used to be. But then...you changed when you were sent to that school, and then away from London, out into the country. Honestly, besides being shy and quiet you also had a ferocious temper. When we came back, you were still quiet and the least noticeable of all four of us, but you seemed so much older. That wild temper never came flying out like it did before. Oh, you would be angry, but you always kept that anger in check, never lashing out. Before we left you were a bully, when we came back you _defeated _bullies. Somehow you learned that teasing those who are helpless before you brings little pleasure. We depended on you for fairness. At least the others did. I drew away, disagreeing with your judgements of my life and habits. I was wrong, and you were right every time. I am sorry for disregarding you, Edmund. Please forgive me.


	3. To Peter

To my quiet Peter:

As I said for my other siblings, you were there. You were always the strong one. How truly were you named Peter, for you were indeed our rock. When Father was gone, we all flocked to you for support. You were never too tired to turn away a sibling. I can remember, even back when I was barely a year old and you only two, you used to comfort me when I was scared. And when we grew older and first Edmund, then Lucy came along, you did the same. Whether it was protecting Lucy from the thunderstorm, or explaining exactly why Edmund didn't have to share his candy, or even speaking up for me when I was too frightened to do it myself. I used to depend on you, Peter, until I decided I could live my life on my own, no help needed, thank you very much. I was unwise, as I now can see all too plainly. I am sorry for breaking away, Peter. Please forgive me.


	4. To Mum

_Long time no see, alerters. In the intervening eleven months, I found/made a play-by for adult Susan. It's not Arwen anymore. Unfortunately, you can't see the picture of her, because stupid FF is stupid._

_No promises about the timing of another update._

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To my dear mother, Evelyn:

When was the last time I called you mum? It must have been before you took me to America the first time. I changed so much here. Too much, I am afraid. I grew up, as some call it. I never listened to your words when you told me there were three kinds of growing up. Three. The literal, the physical kind. Children grow taller, older, and they grow up. The mental kind. Foolish children learn many things, become wiser and more mature, and they grow up. And lastly, the worldly kind. The bonny child becomes a pretty girl, begins to concentrate on beaus and beauty and gossip, begins to think she can do as she likes without advice, and she "grows up." And I chose the third path, the worst path. It was a hard lesson, taught by grief and pain, but I have learned at last. I will never again make the mistake of not heeding when wiser minds give good advice. I am sorry for ignoring you, Mum. Please forgive me.


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